


glycerine boys

by weefaol



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sibling Incest, Somnophilia, Voyeurism, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: When Dean falls asleep during a bubble bath, Sam can't help but slide his fingers around a bar of soap and rub his brother clean.





	glycerine boys

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an unpublished scene from [Howls in My Bones](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12664347).

“Dude, you lit candles?”

Dean begrudgingly trudged into the darkened bathroom, eyeing the little tea-lights that flickered at the corners of the tub. He tossed a half-glance back at Sam. Shook his head. “Candles are for chicks.”

Sam rolled his eyes. It had been difficult enough to convince Dean to take a bath. Difficult enough to push through big brother scoffs and groans as Sam filled the tub with hot water, dribbled two drops of lavender oil in, added an ample squeeze of bubble bath until the tub was full and foamy and smelling immaculate.

It was just what Dean needed to relax after the weekend ghoul hunt. And if Sam was still "too young" to join him and Dad, he would make damn well sure to do his part — run a hot bath and cook a hot meal for Dean to come home to. (Unsurprisingly, Dad "came home" to the local dive bar.) At least it, the implicit domesticity of it all, made Sam feel like a provider. Like he was doing something useful.

He leaned against the bathroom door, watching Dean. On the threshold.

“Call them mini-fires then, if it makes you feel more manly.”

Dean cocked his eyebrow in challenge before shucking off his boxers, baring his devilishly thick ass. “I’m all man, little brother.” He strode towards the bathtub, the heavy outline of his cock swinging between his legs.

Sam was becoming all man, too. A man who liked manly things. Like hard, sculpted muscles. Or cool, smooth gunmetal. And the skunky smell of the Black Sabbath T-shirt Dean had worn to bed for weeks. The one Sam had jizzed into that very morning and buried in the bottom of his duffle. Now, he bit his bottom lip, watching as his older brother — body beautiful, hard and long — dipped his toe in.

Testing the waters.

Steam and suds and soaking wet skin.  
A perfect place for sin.

~~~

Ever since Sam could remember, he’d had a thing for his brother. Part crush, part adoration. Because Dean was everything Sam wanted to be — funny, charming, big, strong. And Sam had finally reached that age where his body began to change and his dick got hard whenever curious eyes lingered on tough guys at gas stations and pretty boys in _Macys_ catalogues and his big brother stretching in bed with his belly fuzz on display, boyish gaze dipping _down, down, down_ toward the grown-up bulge in grey sweatpants —

“Ohhh, god...”

Sam snapped out of it at the sound of Dean _moaning_ as he sank into the hot water. Beautiful, beautiful murmurs that made Sam’s teenaged body twitch. He tugged at his T-shirt to hide his reaction. Looked down at thinning boxer shorts, biting his lip and willing his prick to soften.

Didn’t work that way.

Not with Dean sinking deeper and deeper into the tub, bubbles bursting, fragrant lavender hitting his brain like a drug.

“That’s real good, Sammy.”

He could hear the water lapping against Dean’s naked body, so he focused as hard as he could on dead puppies and creepy clowns and old Mrs. Fletcher from the house next door, patently ignoring the fact that his brother was making his dick throb.

Still didn’t work that way.

“Gonna go make us dinner,” breathed Sam, his face flushed and his ears pink.

It wasn’t a fib. He had every intention of whipping something warm up.

But not until after he’d rutted against shared bedsheets and spilled all over the hundred thread-counts, guilt and shame and _wrong, wrong, wrong_ scratching at his insides.

Sam had made his bed.  
Now he had to lie in it.

~ ~ ~

He spent the next half hour at the kitchenette, meticulously preparing _Kraft Macaroni and Cheese_ , his ears perking up at every _swish_ of bathwater, every hum of contentment from his brother’s lips, echoing off the walls like a gong. After he’d added a few cut up slices of crispy bacon, just the way Dean liked, he turned the flame off. Tiptoed back to the bathroom in silence. Peered inside.

“Dean?”

Sam’s eyes went wide when he glimpsed his brother, his _beautiful_ brother, laying back, naked as the dickens, head resting gently on the edge of the bathtub. Exhausted from the kill, Dean had fallen asleep in the warm, enveloping water. Like a baby in womb, a hunter entombed. Sam smiled, his fingertips trembling on the door frame.

Dean looked so peaceful, so _exquisite_ , while he slept. Like a whisper, Sam crept forward and knelt down next to the bath, granting himself permission, just this once, to simply _look_ as all the lines of worry on Dean’s face melted away. At the way his wretched mouth and those devastating lips parted just a fraction as he drifted. The way the dim candlelight cast a soft orange glow across those lips, those cheeks, those eyelashes...

There were a few bubbles left, floating on the water, collecting around Dean’s skin where his body met the surface — knees, nipples, armpits. Sam sat alongside the tub facing his brother, leaning one elbow over the edge. As if magnetized, he dipped his fingers into the water, skimming their tips along the surface.

 _Nice and warm_. Sam smiled to himself. _Nice and warm for him._

Sam trailed his fingers through the water and gazed in longing at the way Dean’s chest rose up and down with the slow, measured breaths of sleep. Couldn’t help but stare at his pretty nipples, peeking up out of the water with every breath. Without thought, Sam’s fingertips found silky skin, sliding gently from Dean’s wrist to his elbow.

A slippery slope.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched, but he stayed in the heavy stupor of sleep as Sam reached for the bar of soap. He slid it up Dean’s arm where his fingers had been, then breached the water and left a slick trail up his bicep, along his shoulder, and down to his chest. Shuddered as he slipped it softly over each nipple. Bit his lip, his dick swelling in his shorts. He dipped the soap back into the water and smoothed it back upward, trembling as Dean’s nipples hardened under his touch.

The water lapped in little waves as Dean shifted, eyes closed and breathing more measured now, resting in that heavenly half-conscious space between asleep and awake. Sam was there too, with heavy heart and heavenly arousal. He couldn’t stop. Over and over, he smoothed the silky bar over Dean’s chest, washing and watching him get all sudsy slick, his nipples dark and tight. Let his thumb encircle them, rub at the hardened peak. Felt Dean’s chest tighten and relax under him.

“Mmm _…_ ”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat at the sound. His eyes flashed to Dean’s face, rolled back against the edge of the tub now, eyes closed and lips parted in heady arousal. Felt his brother’s hips shift ever-so-slightly and make little ripples of water that drew Sam’s eyes down, down, down, until he was staring at the clouded water between Dean’s thighs. A rush of exhilaration and shame and _want_ flooded his body as he gazed, transfixed, at the swollen tip of Dean’s cock bobbing gently in and out of the water, breaking the surface and making little _sploosh-sploosh_ sounds that thrummed deep in Sam’s ears.

He’d seen Dean’s dick before, of course. Sharing a motel room and the zero privacy of their lives had made sure of that. But never like this. Never full and pretty pink and glistening at the tip with a bead of milky pre-cum that dissolved into the bathwater with each succulent dip.

Sam licked his lips. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything.

Wanted it enough to make him brave and stupid and reckless and —

“ _Sammy_ …”

Blood rushed to Sam's cock as his name spilled so ragged and pretty from Dean’s mouth. Felt languid and loose and the loss of control as he smoothed the bar of soap down Dean’s belly, tracing along the soft trail of dark hair until _there_ — just _there_ — he nudged at his cock, hard and wet and warm. Dean moaned, still in the throws of half-sleep, as Sam slid the soap around the base, the shaft, slicking it and rubbing the ridges and soft skin and pliant vein. Could feel the pulse of Dean’s want, of desire and need — his _heat_ , radiating as he stroked it, breaking the surface of the water and lathering up the swollen head until it was bubble-milk white. Silky soap lines, sudsing and salivating.

It was the prettiest thing Sam had ever seen.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

He wished someone was around to make him wash his mouth out with soap. Because Sam would gladly run his vulgar mouth along the thick of Dean’s cock, glide his filthy tongue along the slit, and drown himself on it.

An intense rush of heat burned up Sam’s neck as his eyes traced upwards, at the way Dean sank back against the back of the tub, stretching out in relaxation. Trembled as little _splish-splish_ sounds lapped against his eardrums — Dean was shifting, moving his arm, his hand, his fingers until _oh god, right there_ … He wrapped his hand around Sam’s, letting the bar of soap slide down into the water, and enclosed his fingers gently around his little brother’s hand. Guided Sam’s loose grip, slow and languid, along the length of his cock, stroking and lathering and milking it silky.

Sam shuddered, his own cock aching in his boxers. The reverberations of the micro _splashes_ and _splooshes_ were so sinful and Sam was desperate to touch himself, to spill over with his hand on his big brother’s cock like this. But his body was frozen, paralyzed, save for the little tightenings of his fingers, playing at Dean’s ridges, squeezing and worshipping under his brother’s guiding palm.

“Yeah, like that…” Dean hummed as they milked his cock in tandem. Deliberate breathy sounds were tumbling from his mouth now, his blowjob lips falling open as he hung his head, elongating his neck, showcasing the salacious way the knot in his throat bobbed. Kept his eyes closed.

Maybe Dean couldn’t face what was happening. Maybe he was still half-asleep and soaking up every ounce he could. Maybe he, like Sam, couldn't risk opening them up and gazing into his little brother’s eyes as he fell apart. Couldn't confront this thing yet — this incestuous ache — that had been simmering just below the surface for years.

“ _Fuck, Sammy_ …”

Dean moaned, his mouth making the most glorious noises. The strokes quickened, more deliberate now. Sam’s fingers rubbed over the beautiful ridge of that pretty pink cock head, glistening in the candlelight, smelling of lavender and sinful salt-want. Dean squeezed his hand tighter around his brother’s as they milked his swollen dick twice more, three times, four. Sam watched his big brother, glorious and naked and twitching pretty, coming apart at the seams, trembling heavy as his cock pulsed white hot seed over the head, coating their hands and clouding the bathwater.

Sam exhaled, his mouth falling open as the smell of Dean’s want hit him like a tidal wave. Breathed in and couldn’t hold it any longer. Didn’t want to. Shifted ever-so-slightly, his aching dick rubbing against soft fabric, and he was coming too, white heat erupting, blinding him with sparks, a never-ending stream of _please, brother, please_ …

They didn’t talk about it. Not that day.

But the proof of impropriety was on their pruney fingers.  
Glycerine boys never get clean.

**Author's Note:**

> Find more of my wolfish tales on [tumblr](http://weefaol.tumblr.com/).


End file.
